Dear diary,

     Sometimes home is so far away from home that it feels strange how good it can be to finaly get home again…
            Some people say that you can have more houses but theres only one home…
But I don’t… I belive that you can have as many houses as u wish… but only as many homes as you make… It takes more than walls to build a house… and it takes more than yourself to feel like home… Well, except people who live alone…
            As for me… I have no houses of my own… but still I have more homes than most of the people… Sometimes it takes no effort and less than hours to make homes… and sometimes no matter what you do or how much time u spend in a place, you can only get a house…
            Beside that, there’s no place like home... At times, home can be a bench in the park or the porch of your house… the road that leads to nowhere, or nowhere itself. Some consider the whole earth their home, and some tend to be so insecure, that home is not even deep in themselves. In fact, usually, for most of the people, home is a room, not a house. We, humans, tend to invest so much in such a small space ( a house or something) that we forget what home is….
            A house is a place. But a home, home is much more than ( and not necessary ) that. Home is the waiting to get there, the feeling when u feel the sweet smell that you usually don’t feel, because of the saturation of youself. The joy when u don’t need to move your stuff around or to put the toothbrush on the shelf.
            Usually, it all comes down to comfort, to comforting, and to coming for it. To the cranks the waterpipes make or the silence that threatens in every second to blow your eardrums out. It comes down to the feeling of safety, protection, company ( still including the lonely hearts) acceptance and deviance… The joy of finding yourself in the miggest mess that u missed so much or the “Ill do the dishes tomorrow”.
            There’s no need for a “welcome” rug to feel welcomed , nor is there any meaning in the post-it notes on the frige, that are there for a year or so. I never noticed the cracks in the ceiling or the tiles that are missing from the roof, and because of which there’s a big pond in the living room. It’s not about the luxury or the space. Sometimes its about not being able to sleep because you feel so home that you don’t care for a second about the other homes and houses.
            Sometimes people that live in tents or iglus or trailers feel better about their homes than people that live in vilas or mansions feel about their houses…
 
Because in the end, home is where your heart is, and your heart can never leave your home.